


Red Sky at Morning

by MagicMarker



Series: Figrid Drabbles and One-Shots [6]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Fígrid February, Fíli as King, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Kili is dead, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Suicidal Thoughts, Thorin is dead, love that there's already a tag for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 05:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMarker/pseuds/MagicMarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed, insofar as anyone could enjoy the pain of others.  Let me know via kudos or comments, or you can find me  <a href="http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com">here on tumblr</a>.  Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote>





	Red Sky at Morning

Sigrid stood on the shore of the lake, wrapped in the one threadbare blanket she had been able to grab as she fled the fire. The water lapped gently at her slippered feet, freezing cold, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was transfixed, looking out over Long Lake, taking in what was left of the city she had called home.

Charred bones of buildings stood stark against the calm surface of the lake, and the early morning sun glittered off of the water which lapped at the blackened stilts that used to hold her house. How dare everything look so peaceful. If she looked closely, she could still see orange-red scales peeking out above the water here and there. No part of the lake was deep enough to hide the dragon’s corpse completely. Rather, time and the elements would have to take their toll before it would finally disappear.

It was pink where the earth met the sky. Sigrid huffed. _Red sky at morning, better take warning._ Had that morning’s sky been red? She couldn’t remember. It was a stupid saying anyway, wrong about as often as it was right. After all, anything could happen in the course of a day. Winds could come and sweep the weather faster along. Dwarves could pop out of your toilet and send your whole life in a new direction. 

Now that she thought of it, the sky mustn’t have been red that morning, because her da had gone out with the barge, and he always believed in those silly superstitions. Oh no, he would never admit that he did. But she had seen his face when he recognized Thorin’s name. You don’t remember a puerile prophetic poem like that unless you believe it.

And what good it had done them, too. 

Now everything she owned lay at the bottom of the lake. She could even picture her mother’s little jewelry box stuck in the muck. Hopefully the catfish liked the offering. After all, it had only cost the lives of her entire town. Bodies still washed up on the beach now and then, especially when a storm would rise. Sigrid had thought herself out of tears to shed, but then someone had found Edmure Manson on the rocks. They’d almost missed him; he’d been in the water so long his bloated body was the same color as the seaweed that clung to him, all yellows and greens and nothing at all like the pinkish boy who’d always given her overly-generous cuts of cloth whenever her da needed a new shirt.

His parents had sold fabric out of the first floor of their house. It must have gone up like a tinderbox. 

Sigrid hadn’t loved Edmure, but she’d liked him well enough to meet him behind the shuttered armory and let his clumsy embrace warm her up for a few stolen moments here and there. Now he was dead. Dead like his family, and half of Lake Town. Dead like her mother, and the brother that killed her. Dead like the damned Dwarf that had started it all. Just dead.

The clacking of stones slipping underfoot brought Sigrid out of her reverie, and she turned to find the blonde brother of the Dwarf who’d nearly died on her kitchen table. “Prince Fíli. Or should I call you ‘King’ now?”

“Sigrid,” he responded. “Or should I call you ‘princess?’”

She huffed a small laugh. “Over what kingdom?”

His wry smile was the only answer he gave as he drew closer. “Why are you out here so early?”

“I live here. I should be asking you.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a ride and ended up…” He laughed quietly as he realized. “Ended up exactly where I last saw you.”

“Indeed.” A cold gust of wind blew Sigrid’s loose hair in front of her face and she pushed it back tiredly, uncaring of the tangles that formed. Her fingertips barely felt the touch. _“All sorrow fail, and sadness, at the Mountain-king's return,”_ she recited. “That mean you? After all, we got the whole _‘lake will shine and burn’_ thing already, and I could definitely stand to have my sorrow fail any minute now.”

“As could I,” Fíli said. 

They stood there in silence for a moment until Sigrid added hotly, “It’s just a stupid poem on a stupid tapestry that’s at the bottom of a stupid lake.”

“It is.”

“Along with the rest of my stupid town and anyone that ever mattered to me. I should be there too.”

“You have your father, and Bain and Tilda,” Fíli pointed out, voice barely above a whisper. “And me, if you like. Despite my best efforts Mahal has kept me alive. Perhaps it is so I may repay our great debt to you. Please, don’t go any further out into that lake. Come back with me.”

It was only when he said it aloud that she realized what she was doing. Sigrid hadn’t even noticed she’d gotten knee-deep into the frigid water, which crept further up her chemise, sticking it to her goose-pimpled skin. Fíli had followed her out there, despite the water reaching above the tops of his boots.

“Please, Sigrid,” he asked, reaching out a hand to her. “Please. I would really like the opportunity to get to know you better, and I can’t do that if you’re at the bottom of a lake.”

She stared at his outstretched hand, and followed the line of his arm up to his face. “Hey,” she said, pointing. “That’s my scarf.”

Fíli left his one hand hanging out there for her to take, but touched the blue fabric around his neck fondly. “It is. You can have it back, but I’m not letting the fish get it.”

Sigrid reached out to him but snatched her hand back before he could take it. “What do you care? You have your own problems, why bother with mine?”

“They’re very similar problems, don’t you think? Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but… I thought maybe you might be the one other person who could understand.”

His hand was still out there, hovering between them. 

Understand. Fíli’s father was dead. His brother and uncle were dead. His mother was dealing with her own grief, and everyone expected him to just start running a kingdom? She could understand a bit of that. Slowly, Sigrid let her hand find his.

It was hot. 

No, it wasn’t hot. She was just so cold it felt like his touch burned. “Oh…” There was a hot wetness running down her cheeks now too; she was crying, like she hadn’t done since they’d found Edmure. Like she wouldn’t do.

“There you go,” Fíli murmured, leading her out of the water and up the beach to where his pony stood waiting. He pulled the blanket off the back of the saddle and whipped it open, then wrapped it around her waist and legs. Softly, so softly, he pulled her hair back from her face and rubbed some of the tears from her eyes. “I’m going to take you home.”

A sob wracked through Sigrid’s entire body. “I haven’t got a home!” 

“You will.” He hoisted her up onto the saddle, then swung up behind her and urged the pony forward. Fíli was shushing her, holding her tightly against his chest, letting his warmth seep into her through his opened coat. 

After a few moments, Sigrid calmed down enough to realize her da would absolutely die if he found out what she had nearly done. “You can’t tell him.”

“You should tell him.”

“I can’t tell him! He’ll... “

“He’ll want to know. He’ll want to help.”

“He’ll have enough on his plate.”

Fíli sighed. “And I don’t?”

Sigrid pursed her lips. He had a point. “All right. I’ll tell him. _Some_ of it. He doesn’t need to know about… this.” She gestured at all the points where their bodies touched. “You don’t need that kind of trouble either. Just drop me off at the corner.”

When they reached the point she’d designated, Fíli hopped off first and helped her down. Sigrid unraveled herself from his blanket and handed it back to him. Though she’d never admit it to him she instantly regretted it; the wind was still frigid cold. “Thank you, King Fíli.”

“Thank _you,_ ” he answered, so earnestly. “I’m glad you didn’t go all the way out there.”

“Me too.” Out of words to say, she turned and headed up the road towards the hut her family was staying in at the moment. 

“Sigrid?”

When she turned, he was already back in the saddle. “What?”

“Just… If you ever feel like going out there again… Write me instead?” He shifted in the saddle and gave her a thin smile. “Please?”

Sigrid sighed to herself, closing her eyes just a moment against the sight of him so open there in front of her. Slowly, she nodded. “I will. And Fíli?” She bit her lip; there was too much to say. Instead she tried to smile and said, "Keep the scarf."

Fíli nodded his understanding, then turned his pony north towards Erebor. She watched him go just a bit then started back up the road again. When she finally reached the doorstep, her Da burst through the skin they’d hung to try to block some of the elements. He was speechless, taking in her soaked clothes and blanket, her muddied slippers, her red eyes that matched his.

She ran to him then, letting her ruined shoes fall off her feet as she threw herself into his arms and sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Da,” she cried into his chest, and when she finally pulled away he gave her a watery smile that she tried to return.

“Da,” she sniffled quietly. “I think I need to talk to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, insofar as anyone could enjoy the pain of others. Let me know via kudos or comments, or you can find me [here on tumblr](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading!


End file.
